Last night
I dreamt of a love in my arms
But she wasn’t you
She wasn’t anyone
We were peacefully laying there
Her head on my chest
My mind at rest, content
We didn’t need to speak
Or even look at each other
Yet somehow I could sense
I could feel that she was faceless
Our breathing in sync
Lightly touching one another
The only reminder that
This could be real
Someday

She-he doesn’t exist!
Quit holding yourself to their standard(s)
Because even for them
IT’S ONLY IN THEIR HEAD(S)
The perfect aesthetic specimen
A test tube in the cranial vestibule of their dreams
A petri stink solution full of confirmation bias
All too Electra-esque and Oedipus-ian
Yes even for the televangelist
And the open-minded agnost
They’ll tell you they want the six pack
Then opt for the dad bod’s keg
From here to Proxima Centauri
They’ve be lying to you, sorry
And you’ve been eating it up
Society’s soylent greens
To consume; perpetuated body shame
Ersatz window display mannequin
IT’S ALL IN THEIR HANDS
The perfect aesthetic specimen
Set to fit on a whim to their design
Entire think tanks are posed to devise
Your perfect aesthetic specimen

Fuck you!
I hold no respect
for the spineless
so willing to subjugate
the weak without cause
It’s one thing to hold power
and another altogether
to be a piece of shit
With children starving and dying
why are we building and “striving”
for another oil pipeline
We should’ve reached a whole integer
in the Kardashev Scale by now
but it wouldn’t pad the wallets of the 1%
or help their stranglehold on control
“Oh no! We can’t let the people be free.”

Fuck you proletariat
And you bourgeoisie
Fuck this whole
Dichotomy
We need this new
thought process progressive
to sweep away the two
this binary regressive

Fuck that!
I will be tempered in the fires of my own bellows
not in the woes from without
the soiled core of society
the spoiled throes of naivete
with walls I never needed or asked for
kept in line with the baseline whore
I will beckon the new age
even progressives couldn’t imagine
for they too are kept in line
I will destroy the empty labels of this world
The binary dichotomies of control

They try to paint their
mortal coils
as though they’re
more than just
this
expanded food-poop machine
YOU’RE DYING TOO!

“Be all you can be”
Yeah, be their prostitute
to feed their babies’ trust funds
Stop making me see through
your Black-Brown-Yellow glasses
and let me see my friends as friends
and my enemies as fellow human beings

She calls out to him in the car
Brakes slam and they’re parked outside
I peel back the blinds and I’m injected
Into another life of romantic strife
But I’ve seen this all already
Like a rerun of an old show
The details are foggy
But the plot’s all there

The players take their place on stage
The dialogue lies analogue to what is prologue
But like a wisp to whet the teeth in feast
She’ll sunder his soul for iniquities perceived
Inequitous to their lustful “us”

And he’ll obfuscate his feelings further
within to hide inside from himself all his fright
His insecurities insidious obscured by ignorant bliss
And with a defeated stroll he’s kept under control
and in line with the players’ march as they exit

The curtains fall, the blinds are shut
The engine starts and the tires peel them away